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Natasha1

Creativity When Depressed #3

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(Found this in my journal from 5 years ago:)

 

i don't want to die

but i don't want to live

i just want to go somewhere

where i don't have to exist

why can't i dissolve into a gas

and float away?

up into the atmosphere

lightyears away?

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Found this, written on  2/18/2013

 

can you hear

their tears and exhalations

reverberating softly

as mysterious sensations

i can feel

through these walls

of stone and shell

that stand majestically

upon the lands of hell

an echo, echo

because pain never dies

death is forever

so victories are lies

and history is a mirror

dressed up in disguise

and they can keep their secrets

but their stains still bleed the skies

so tell me

who will come to know

my whispered revelations

as time makes them grow

as big as constellations



pain never dies

and death is forever

so victories are lies

that hold us together


and history is a mirror

dressed up in disguise

so we all keep our secrets

and guard them like a prize

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The months drag like textbook pages

So dry, I just keep flipping through

Staring at the ink expecting a change

But it doesn’t come

You disappeared like music in the mind of a linguist

I would know

Not gradual, I went to sleep with you in my head

Woke up and you were gone

You once were the commanding percussion I marched to

You were the emotional piano keys that unlocked me

The subtle, moving strings that tied me to you

I felt every piece of the arrangement

While I was listening

But I could only ever hold on to the lyrics

Because they were mine

I sang your song so often that I lost my own voice in your melody

How times did you pry my heart open

Just to pour yourself in

How many times did I welcome you fully

At the same time craving both more of you and less of me

But I took it too far and you watched me slowly erase myself

Until there was nothing left to love

Now I flip through my own pages

Even my poetry is textbook dry

I keep staring at the ink expecting a change that never comes

Every page the same

Cold and closed, hardened

No vulnerability, no fragments of my heart for you to find

Only distance and dispassion

Most lines left unfinished

Because I’m still singing to you

Without any of your music

And it echoes off walls you’ve never touched

I could never keep time on my own

I could never stay in key

So your song becomes little more than a collection of lyrics

Verses and choruses that I wrote long ago

That I can now speak only in whispers

To no audience

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THE OWL TELLS ME THINGS

 

The music on the speakers

The coffee-shop variety

I feel a warm buzz

The coffee running down my throat

And Mozzarella-pesto sandwich 

The music too

The bustle of people talking

Around the table I don't see

Otherwise the place is empty

I am alone and I fcking love it

 

The owl on the mug

Riddles in eyes wide open

What stories it tells!

Edited by samadhiSheol

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Another one found in the journal that I don't think I've posted yet:

 

when the sanctuary is a trap
and the sanctuary is a lie
that you keep telling yourself
just to get by

but you're not getting by
you're slowly dying faster
than if you'd stop watching
for the inevitable disaster

but how to break the cycle?
you can barely get out of bed
and all the thoughts you think

spin like laundry in your head

and any conclusions
get lost in the wash
supposed resolutions
always get the kibosh

Edited by evalynn

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On 4/14/2019 at 3:33 AM, evalynn said:

Another one found in the journal that I don't think I've posted yet:

 

when the sanctuary is a trap
and the sanctuary is a lie
that you keep telling yourself
just to get by

but you're not getting by
you're slowly dying faster
than if you'd stop watching
for the inevitable disaster

but how to break the cycle?
you can barely get out of bed
and all the thoughts you think

spin like laundry in your head

and any conclusions
get lost in the wash
supposed resolutions
always get the kibosh

I love this one, @evalynn

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Last night I dreamed I shed my skin
and glided across the wonders
of the beautiful world
through soft grass
and the dunes of burning deserts
upon the mountains
to their tops
where my wings grew
strong and thick against the sky.
 
I am a creature both great and small
carried yet steering to the heights and the depths
of greater life
in my fitful hours of sleep --
life that in waking hours I can barely just
imagine.
 
I wonder which is real – the dream or
the waking bloom of
tears and
the warmth of light
trees with their lavender leaves wide open
and the sound of trilling birds?
 
Give me respite, grief.
I am tired.
Harsh, dark winter is given rest
so give to me the like.
The helix of creation of which I am a part
thrives around me
surrendering to hope,
to the efflorescence of forgiveness,
to sweet sunlight,
opening the garden doors in my heart
where there has always been, and will always be,
love.
 
 
                                                                                                                                                                                                  Paul -- I will see you again.
                                                                                                                                                                                                   Wait for me.
 

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Your Superiority Is A Falsehood

Skills unseen.
It's the same, always.
You're not the first.
So dont feel all special and unique.

Because you're not.

My senses,
The overwhelming knowledge,
I can teach it,
But I can't teach you to learn.

And you don't.

Don't you see?
No, you're blinded.
The feelings, numb.
You are therefore immune.

And it shows.

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I always fail myself as well as others. 

Happiness for me is better self destructed. 

I'm a self starter with a broken coil. 

 

I understand the need to be,

but can't help being hopelessly stuck at sea. 

 

I don't regret the choices I've made. 

Just the pain I've caused and continue to cause by my ill advised action. 

 

I know no one is better off with me. 

So I'll keep pushing away and pushing away 

Until its only... me.

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Manufactured happiness

At the cost of identity

How many times have I found

That I am someone else entirely

Only for today to maintain

And tomorrow to be free again

In whoever that day may find

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Its not well written but most of my stuff is written quickly. I'm done about the same time that i start.

Memory

"Maybe you shouldnt have wasted all that time at the yoga place and been a good mom instead."

I'm sitting here, remembering the conversation. Sitting here as I relive the pain once again. That pain that sets in when i have realized that yes once again, i taste of failure.

That taste, bitter and sour, reeks of your love. The rank care you take when you tell me that I get bigger every year. That I fail as a mother.

And you. Your scent is acidic. You tell me that my negativity is bringing everyone down.

I'll remember that. When he does the same...hey he did it 5 minutes before I did.

I'll remember that the next time you do it. Which is daily.

I keep forgetting that it's only for the elite. I'm on the bottom in this household. In this life.

I was growing up too. So why am I not accustomed to my status? Because I forgot.

So here I am again. Waiting for the diagnosis. I thought I was over all that. But maybe...just maybe? Then I could be appreciated and loved when you both realize that soon I'll be gone.

No. I wouldn't even get that.

You see, when he went, he went home to die. I was there for two weeks in the beginning. We took care of him. It was rough but we were there.

I forgot.

I would never get the same care and treatment. No way would they do that for me. I'll have the hospital room where they will leave me to rot alone, just waiting for the phone call when they can finally sign the papers and be done with me for good.

The time will come, when my rancid life will end and theirs can begin.

And then they can forget me.

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They're coming for me. They'll be here soon and I have nothing to show them. Only panic attacks and breakdowns. Those are my sins.

I'll show them my empty hands, to be cuffed. And they can throw me into the dark room. That's ok. I live there anyway.

What's amazing to me is they have worked their way through to all the people I interact with. Daily. So now there are a lot of parts to play. Whatever is necessary.

My husband has even joined their cult. Left me alone now. Saying ive manipulated the conversation. Yeah, I'm not smart enough for that, Jack.

I hope the pharmacist burns in hell. I collapsed onto the floor wailing. Anyone want to help? Nope. Just her chanting overtop...her side. Her side of something that wasnt even the real issue. And she continued to do so when I phoned later to explain that wasnt the issue. And berated me that I had to phone my insurance company and fix it. Yo you **** I JUST told you all that! Thanks for listening.

But they are still on the way. And cancer cant come too soon.

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Why can’t you love me
As much as I love you
With a hungry obsession
That borders on ire
And burns like rage
That can only be soothed
By the aloe of your measuredness,
The balm of your continuity.
If i am the flame,
You are the stream
Of cool water
On my tongue
That satisfies
But only temporarily,
There’s never enough of you
To satisfy me.
If you are the rain,
I am the parched soil.

Edited by evalynn

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There have been extremely creative periods during depression for me.  At one point, I wrote more than enough lyrics for a record.  Just one example.  

Other times, like now, I’m not feeling very creative at all.  Sometimes it comes bursting forth & other times the well’s just dry.  It’s a very cold, dark feeling.

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Well i started writing one thing, then it turned into sometthing else and then it changed again. Its not done and it is a bunch of crap. Oh well.

 

I'm afraid of the dark.
It's always been that way.
You'd think I'd be comfortable with it, since
it matches me,
It's a part of me.

No...it IS me.

Feeling my way through the dark, hard floor
Yearning to see the light
Or just to see.
But black I'll be.

I know I'll go like he did.
Waiting for 70 or more
For the cancer will hit
And spread

That's how it took him,
Her too.

I write this
With pain in my heart
In my mind
And in my soul

Tears sting
And fall
Why do I bother at all

The dark is here
Drowning me
With waves of cold
Slapping my face

In the garden
The plants that I grew
Have thorns and vines
They all know me too

All too well, I suppose
Those vines choke me
And the thorns stab me
They all know

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The Old Days

Ever talk about the old days? Or back in the day?

Were they good times for you? I bet a lot of people would say so.

Me, not so much.

I remember the mask though. The constant hiding behind it. Pain itself is a mask. It comes with the kit.

"Step right up folks! Heres your pain, suffering, paranoia and inadequacies! Comes with a built-in consealer! A mask so effective, it will have you believe you are on top of the world as you die inside!"

I think about the old days a lot. The highs i got from my behaviour. I often revisit those days and sometimes put the mask back on. But, then i realize i havent put it on. It was there all along.

The old days are back.

The old days are here.

The old days are now.

Because they were never gone!

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On 11/19/2019 at 10:56 PM, Natasha1 said:

Well i started writing one thing, then it turned into sometthing else and then it changed again. Its not done and it is a bunch of crap. Oh well.

 

I'm afraid of the dark.
It's always been that way.
You'd think I'd be comfortable with it, since
it matches me,
It's a part of me.

No...it IS me.

Feeling my way through the dark, hard floor
Yearning to see the light
Or just to see.
But black I'll be.

I know I'll go like he did.
Waiting for 70 or more
For the cancer will hit
And spread

That's how it took him,
Her too.

I write this
With pain in my heart
In my mind
And in my soul

Tears sting
And fall
Why do I bother at all

The dark is here
Drowning me
With waves of cold
Slapping my face

In the garden
The plants that I grew
Have thorns and vines
They all know me too

All too well, I suppose
Those vines choke me
And the thorns stab me
They all know

😢

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Merry christmas, Lady.

Yeah, merry it will be, won't it? Maybe i should be checking those bills you gave me. They are probably as fake as you are, right? 

Merry christmas.

I like how you misled your way to get what you wanted for practically pennies. I like how you played me, suggesting i find out what its all worth online from experienced ones..KNOWING that i cant because i am not licensed there anymore. You knew i would just let it go.

Merry christmas.

Guess what? I KNOW what its all worth because i am not stupid. I was practically giving away what i thought we agreed on as it was. But you came in my home to do the transaction, laid out your expectation that now i look back in it, seemed planned...approaching it as a script that your mother played a part in. And that was supposedly why you went with my price increase? Lol. The part i thought we agreed on was being given away as it was.

So merry christmas.

Did your mother teach you to be this way? Or did you bring her into your game of deception? Oh i know karma is a thing. I had it coming, didnt i? What i did to those few people. So i can accept that part of it. But karma is a nasty thing. Its a cycle...a circle...a virus. It spreads. I was affected. Now you,'re next.

So merry christmas.

I like how you expected all the storage items too. No, you cant have that. Now that i know what is really going on, im not helping you either. Are you seriously that nasty? The scam you pulled wasn't good enough? Seriously?

Yes i could have said no, but then i'd get nothing and had no other serious buyers. I froze. I had a few (those interested in seeing the parts you scammed me out of). But they wouldnt have gone for my pricing due to not understanding the value of this stuff even though my pricing would have been also giving it away too. You knew that didn't you?

So merry christmas to you.

I like how you were rushing through it...like one who was ready to flee a crime scene. Because you knew. You saw my disappointment. You saw the flush that came to my face. You knew you had to hurry before i changed my mind. I was livid. I kept it in. Shocked. Why did i let you abuse me?

Merry effing christmas.

As The Prayer plays on my sound system, a beautiful instrumental version turned ugly with my made up lyrics as i prepared dinner. Based on that alone i am going to hell. My husband had to come into the kitchen to tell me to change my lyrics;  that wishing you to choke and die was not a nice lyric. Lol. Sure isnt, is it?

Merry christmas  you ****.

I never use THAT word. "Never say "never." I havent wished or said these things before, but my lyrics, i hope they come true for you. That you choke and die. That you get hemorhroids that cause you to writhe in pain before they burst. 

Merry christmas.

I hope you choke on a turkey bone as you enjoy christmas dinner with your scamming family. Do you scam your clients too? Wouldnt they find it interesting to find out how you treat people outside of business?

Merry christmas, bitch.

I hope you contract something really nasty, something that matches your ugliness. The awful way you do business. I hope its painful and there is nothing that will help with the pain.

Merry christmas.

Partner up with you? I like how you buttered me up with that one. You had it planned from the beginning. Worked on me from the moment you stepped through my front door. I hope you step onto a patch of winter ice and break your effing neck. Will your back hurt sweetie? How about that one? Be in constant pain so you cant even run that business of yours that you basically got your stuff for free. 

Thats my present to you. Lets not have you die. No. Lets have you hurt your back so badly that you suffer with an addiction to pain meds. I hope it leads to harsher stuff! SUFFER YOU ****!

Merry christmas.

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Cooking A Novel

The end is near. There's nothing to fear
The final chapter draws to a close
Its just a matter of how the plot goes.

Thickening as i type
Your mess needs a wipe
Instead stir it, stir away
You dont listen to what I say.

The pot is hot.
And it burns as it cooks. 
You eat with your fingers
Not caring how it looks

Because you enjoy to eat
What was me, the meat
No worries of rot
As my spirit was caught

You expect worship and laud
Thinking you're God
Realitycheck: you're sick
And you're really a dick

Ignorance is bliss
And you won't be missed
For the others they know
That you sing like a crow

So stir that pot
And keep writing the plot
Just know one thing:
MY EPILOGUE WILL SING!

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             My Big Day

They've all gathered here today,
A feeling I've never had the chance to feel in my heart,
They all actually came,
And traveled so far,

I've never had people show up for me,
As a child my parents never came for me to the school,
I watched the other patents and children in joy,
As I set alone in the back of the room,

But they're here today,
My hands are shaking,
I'm dressed in a suit,
And all my composure it's taking,

I've never had a suit before,
So nervously I struggle to tidy,
Not long now,
Until I must meet everyone and they meet me,

The church is so beautiful,
The sun is brilliant outside without fade,
Everyone has showed up,
For my big day,

I leave from the back,
And walk with a slow pace,
As I walk down the isle,
With a shy smile on my face,

They're all here for me,
All dressed up and sharp,
And outside waits for me and my future,
With white letters on the windows of a beautiful black car,

I'll leave this place and never look back,
It's a sad thought but it's what they would've wanted...I'm sure of that,

The preacher stands just up ahead,
Ready to seal this sacred eternal bond,
And people waiting near the front,
All of which I am the most fond,

My most beloved is yet to walk the isle,
To meet me in this most majestic moment,
I'm deeply nervous for our meeting,
So to keep my obligation I'll no longer postpone it,

I finally reach the front,
The people no longer speak,
And I lay down in pillows softer than clouds as my coffin lightly squeaks,

I never had new pillows,
I slept on a hand-me-down bed,
With pillows,
That were threadbare and starved to be fed,

So I lie there still,
And the preacher finally speaks my name,
And my last thought is... with a last shy smile on my face....
They all showed up on my big day....
 

   I wrote this poem to envision the ideals of a man who's lived with and sadly...lost the battle with depression. It's strange how the same church could have two people wed or hold a man's funeral service,it's meant to show the different paths life may take us...the man who never had anyone there for him and yet they all show up just once to his final remembrance,or people who have always been there to help him along could show up just once more in a series of many times before...to send him and his beloved off into their new life together...The value of small pieces of everyones time...the difference in the eye of the beholder is black and white,the difference in the man himself is life or death. I had hoped this could be motivational enough for people to see that others need someone to be there...even for the small things,to help them to get through the tough times.

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Uniformity...What Is That?

No one is on the same page.
Sometimes i think its a different book.
Or even a whole different genre.

I'm in the green section
trying to figure out a text book in school, or a procedures manual in a corporate setting

Both written in black and white, but only grey is practiced,
the reading audience is all doing their own thing, authoring a new product.

No wonder im failing every exam and performance review.
 

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This is something that happened. I wrote some notes so that i could write something when i was ready. But i couldnt wait and i wrote this just now, spilling out my thoughts and feelings as they are right now without looking at the notes i wrote this morning.  I will write the more in depth piece but this is where it is at right now. Sort of the base i guess.

I Dreamed Of You

I've always dreamed.

And last night it was perfect.

How can i dream of you when i have my own life and family? Why did I dream of you? At least they werent in existence there. That would be complicated, confusing and hurtful.

You were aloof. Then you wrote. Seven pages. You looked at me from across the room and i closed them even though they were loose pages. I have no idea what they said, even now as I am awake.

And then the perfection began to weave and connect.

Stitch by stich.

Little by little.

Moment by moment. 

 You didnt trust me and that was expected. But the wall came down. 

And we walked.

We spoke, but not by mouth. We could read each other's minds; not with word. We read our faces. Read our story as it unfolded right there.

The touch was home. It was right. It was warm. It was electric. It was everything and nothing. It was supposed to happen. 

It was nice.

And there is a longing but it can't happen. Yet, I am somehow in the right place right now when I am awake.

So tell me:

Is it because this is meant for our next life? Was here and now supposed to happen now to prepare us for that? Or was it just too early, yet we were drawn to each other?

Are we living now? Is it only you who is? And in the end, do you actually hate me? Did you ever?

Are we living now? Or am i sleeping and in my dreams am I truly awake?

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Um... I've seen good writing here, and it made me want to share a poem I wrote.

The Cycle Continues

You stand there looking down on me.
All I want is for you to see.
What the bullying you are doing makes me feel.
My mind festers with suffering, and can't heal.
Life turns like a huge wheel.
Here I wait for the usual spiel.
Where you seek me out, and put me down.
Turning my smile into a frown.
After you are done.
You watch me run.
Laughing with your big group.
As my heart melts into soup.
The tears pour down my cheek.
I feel so utterly meek.
You were lucky is what they'd say.
Lucky to live another day.
That's what I thought.
When I got caught.
By you in that same hall.
Everyday by that painted wall.
My heart's filled with ache.
So much more than I can take.
Feeling this way, so alone.
I have the feeling to want to atone.
For the way I am in your eyes.
I hate donning this guise.
I'm the one who cries.
Telling everyone awful lies.
About how I'm just fine.
I'm not, I'm walking the line.
The "Me" inside is falling apart.
An awful weight upon my heart.
I want to you to stop.
My brain is going to pop.
You can't see the pain you cause.
While you torment me without pause.

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